


fear of falling (safe again, with you)

by idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)



Category: PBG Hardcore
Genre: M/M, but its not real so idk. watch out, not really season specific. honestly any au where they beat the ender dragon together go crazy, oh one (1) smooch, pbg hardcore might be dead for a while but im not and i bring domesticity with a side of angst!!, promise im still working on beyond the sea but this song just gave me a Fat burst of inspiration ok, uhh kind of graphic depiction of falling?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread
Summary: It's no secret that Jeff has a fear of falling. An unfortunate tendency, an unusual inclination, even. Even now, outside of the looming threat of danger or an end goal, the cliff they live on scares him.He supposes that's the very reason this... morning ritual, you could say, began.





	fear of falling (safe again, with you)

**Author's Note:**

> this is very very strongly inspired/based on hyperballad by bjork!! listen to it. it slaps

Jeff couldn't really remember when his little ritual started. Some time between when they first settled down here, and now. _Here,_ is a notion that still scares him, _excites_ him, in a raw, almost primal way.

 

Here. They ended up _here_ a long time ago, now. Their adventures, what seemed like their reason for existing in this world and staying alive, felt so far away now. Their old house, the old battlegrounds, the friends they had lost. Crossing dimensions, slaying the _fucking dragon,_ barely surviving and somehow _winning._

 

Every time he nearly lost Austin, every time Austin nearly lost _him_ , somehow, they held on. And they won.

 

Coming through the portal again, they shared one last moment at their old home, blood staining the planks and graves looming in the distance.

 

Then, they were alone. The cameras turned off, it seemed like the ghosts simply went somewhere else, and the world was suddenly so much emptier. The uncertainty of the future and the knowledge that this world could be ripped from them in an _instant_ terrified him, Austin's hand in his own serving as his only anchor.

 

Austin, of all people, didn’t seem nearly as scared. Maybe he knew something Jeff didn’t.

 

 _No, he did._ He knew they were finally alone, albeit with no idea how long it would last, but _free._ Austin sighed, smiling in that tired, _fucking finally_ kind of way, and he pulled his hands out of Jeff's grip, leaving one on Jeff's hip, the other cupping his cheek. Austin leaned down, and even in Jeff’s confusion, his heart understood _perfectly._ He got up on the tips of his toes, wrapping his arms around Austin's neck, and somehow, _somehow,_ that kiss led them here.

 

This new home, on this mountaintop, away from everything they had won and lost. Small and cozy, a sheep farm off to the side, the view both gorgeous and terrifying, making him feel just... _so small._ The cliffs scared him at first, his growing fear of falling and his tendency towards it was no secret. They still scare him, but not quite in the same way.

 

Now, his fear serves a very particular purpose. Through that fear, he created a ritual.

 

At one point or another, he started coming to the cliffside right in front of their home, up to the very edge. There's a fence around it, and torches lighting up every inch of their land, but for the sake of the ritual, he engages in the fantasy that he's in danger, somehow.

 

It used to be whenever Austin was away or distracted, but it's almost every morning now. He wakes up early enough to watch the sunrise, Austin still sleeping like a rock, _the cutest, fluffiest rock he's ever seen._ He's never been able to find the will to wake him, so he wiggles his way out from under the many covers and out of the house as quietly as he can, the early morning light igniting _something_ within himself.

 

The land is quiet, their herd still asleep, the air fresh with fog and the scent of flowers from their garden. Silently, he approaches the edge.

 

Staring over the cliff, his hands gripping the fence, he imagines if the fence wasn't there. If it somehow was struck by lightning and caught fire, or this one particular block was stolen by an Enderman, _if they can even do that._ If he simply hopped over it. Dread settles into his chest, heavy like the misty air, and something about it is _intoxicating._

 

It doesn't matter what it is. Sticks, rocks, bones, old tools or artifacts from an adventure long passed. Every chance he gets, he'll drop one off the side of the cliff.

 

The silent morning and the early light are perfect for this. He watches as whatever it is tumbles down the side, listens as it hits and scrapes the side of the cliff, how it shatters at the bottom. How it was in his hands one moment and gone the next.

 

That's when he returns to himself, and continues to ignore the fence keeping him from any real harm. He keeps what he had just seen and heard in his mind, the sounds it made when it shattered, how quickly it disappeared from sight, and remembers how it felt to hit the ground all that time ago.

 

Every morning, he imagines,  _remembers_ that again. Says the fence catches fire, or simply fails, and he falls. Depending on the angle, what he's carrying, how much he struggles, his hypothetical death would come slightly differently.

 

His skin would scrape against the cliffside, thorns and bits of rock embedded in his skin. He would bleed and a new bone would break every time he crashed, every time he tried to catch himself, only to keep falling. Only for the pain to get worse and worse, until his blood dyed the grey cliffside red, until it would finally come to one last, deafening shattering.

 

The bones he had dropped before sounded gentle, rhythmic, strangely _light,_ in a way that _didn't_ immediately make him want to cry. He wonders if his body would sound like that, when the rocks break his bones and shatter his skull. If the sound of him hitting the rocks would be softer, gentle, _like a song_. He wonders how he'd look when he finally hit the ground, beaten and bloodied, if his eyes would still be open. If he'd be smiling.

 

If Austin would make the trip all the way down to get him, if he would cry. If he would jump too.

 

The contemplation reaches its peak, just a little too strong for Jeff, his heart pounding in his ears and catching in his throat. He takes two steps back, catching his breath, finding himself again. On the mountaintop, safe. _Here._

 

When the fear subsides, he glances back up to the sun, having fully risen. The view, carefully sculpted cliffs and an expanse of blue sky, is _so damn pretty_ again, in its own right.

 

He smiles.

 

When he comes back to bed, worming his way back into Austin's arms, it feels like so much more of a relief. It's warmer under the covers, it's safer in _here,_ and giving the feeling some danger to contrast it with just makes Jeff all the more grateful. Feeling safe again, with Austin, feels _so much fucking better._

 

Maybe it isn't the healthiest or the safest ritual, certainly not helping him get over his fear of falling, but maybe he's always been a bit of a daredevil.

 

Loving Austin was a leap of faith in itself. They've earned this ending, regardless of how long they're actually allowed to keep it, and Jeff intends to make the most of it.

 

When Austin wakes, Jeff will whine and pull the covers back over himself, telling him _it's too early, go back to sleep._

 

Tomorrow morning, he’ll come to the cliff again.

 


End file.
